Worth Remembering
by Lynn Saunders
Summary: a love story


Title: Worth Remembering  
Author: Lynn Saunders  
Website: http://www.angelfire.com/scifi2/lynnsaundersfanfic  
Email: lynnsaundersfanfic@hotmail.com  
Distribution: Knock yourself out, but let me know so I can   
check on you.  
Rating: R  
Classification: MSR  
Spoilers: season seven  
Summary: a love story  
Date Completed: 06-17-03  
  
Carol is the most awesome person ever! Oh, and she also   
beta'd this piece in record time. This story is for her.  
  
Feedback is fed plump, juicy grapes and fanned with palm   
frons at lynnsaundersfanfic@hotmail.com  
  
Disclaimer: The characters of Mulder and Scully are the   
property of Chris Carter and 1013. A break from work is   
the only thing I am gaining from writing fan fiction.  
  
* * * * * *  
  
Worth Remembering  
by Lynn Saunders  
  
* * * * * *  
  
She knocks at the door. She's not sure why. Usually, she   
lets herself in. Tonight, knocking feels right, so she does.   
A muffled "It's open," and she gives a practiced kick to the   
bottom corner of the door, turns the knob.   
  
Mulder's apartment smells of coffee and shoe polish, of fish   
food and well-worn books. She is reminded of her college   
English professor, of meetings in his office. He would smile,   
his sharp green eyes flashing behind their wire-rimmed frames,   
discussing the book of the moment over a pot of hot, strong   
coffee. She was secretly in love with him for two years,   
before she graduated and moved on to medical school. She   
suspects he is the cause of the instant and overwhelming   
attraction she felt to Mulder in the first year of their   
partnership. The wire-rims get her every time.  
  
She is toeing off her heels by the table when Mulder appears   
in the kitchen doorway. He looks her over, taking his time   
as if he hasn't seen her almost every day for the past seven   
years, as if they haven't spent the past three days crime-  
fighting together in California. A slow smile transforms his   
face, reaching his sleepy hazel eyes. Even the spiky ends   
of his shower-damp hair seem happy to see her.  
  
He doesn't approach, though. He doesn't move to kiss her.   
They have discovered that they often need down-time between   
working together and sleeping together. She stopped at   
her apartment only long enough to take the suits   
out of her bag and replace them with weekend-appropriate   
clothing. Now, Mulder's shower is calling out to her. She   
returns his smile and makes her way to the bathroom.  
  
Ladies and gentleman, Special Agent Dana Scully, M.D. has   
left the building. The pleasantly sharp stream of water   
spurting from Mulder's shower has melted her, leaving behind   
a happier, more playful version. She stretches luxuriously   
in the steam, arching her back like a cat and humming low in   
her throat as the hot water loosens her sore muscles.  
  
Using Mulder's shower is a devastatingly erotic experience.   
The olive-green soap contains sandalwood oil. Its scent is   
raw, elemental, like she imagines he would smell after making   
love in the forest in the rain. The suds cascade over her   
bare shoulders and breasts, tracing the exact path Mulder's   
hands took the first time they made love.  
  
She remembers waking on the sofa, disoriented, snuggling   
the wool Indian blanket, wishing Mulder was wrapped around   
her instead. She wasn't sure how much time had passed. Not   
very long, maybe ten minutes, maybe half an hour. It didn't   
matter. What mattered was Mulder. He was awake. She could   
hear him bustling about in the kitchen. She rose, following   
the sound of clinking coffee mugs. Mulder was at the sink,   
rinsing dishes. She stood in the doorway for a moment,   
wondering if he knew she was there. He did. "Stay," he   
said, chancing a glance in her direction and turning off   
the tap.  
  
She smiles. Not too long ago, she would have spent this   
Friday night alone in her apartment, perhaps looking over   
autopsy results or watching an old movie. Maybe Mulder   
would call or show up, as he was prone to do. Maybe he'd   
want to go chase monsters, or maybe he'd want pizza and   
company. Maybe he'd want to hit baseballs in the park.   
No matter what, she would go to bed alone.  
  
Now, she laughs, looking at her shampoo and razor mingled   
with Mulder's shower paraphernalia on the convenient waist-  
high shelf. That little ledge has more than one use. It   
has supported a much more powerful display of the new   
aspect of their relationship than their mixed toiletries.   
She runs a hand over the wall above the shelf and shivers.   
  
The cold tile stung the skin of her back as Mulder hoisted   
her onto the ledge, the contrast to the heat of his body   
and the water falling around them making the fine hairs at   
the base of her neck stand on end. Tiny water droplets   
sparkled on his eyelashes, beautiful. She wondered if she   
looked the same way, to him. It was their fourth   
time together, or fifth, depending on the way one counts   
this sort of thing. She gasped as he pushed into her,   
burying her face in his neck and hanging on for dear life.   
"Love you." Who said it? Perhaps both, probably both. He   
turned her inside out and set her soul afire at 6 AM   
on a Wednesday morning. They were extremely late for   
the quarterly meeting.  
  
The water cools, and she rinses one last time. A large,   
fluffy towel awaits her, draped over the rack next to the   
shower. She dries and tousles her hair, staring wide-eyed   
at the mirror. Flushed skin, clear blue eyes, a sprinkling   
of freckles, rose-tipped nipples at attention, the hint of   
a smile. This is the woman Mulder sees. This is Scully.  
  
Mulder's dress shirt is spread neatly at the end of his   
bed, the crisp french blue in sharp relief against the cream   
of the comforter. She loves to wear his shirts. He loves it,   
too. She pulls it on, leaving the top two buttons undone.   
The sleeves extend past her fingertips, so she rolls them   
twice.  
  
She selects the black silk panties that ride low on her   
hips, Mulder's favorite. She knows because he bought them   
for her, at an up-scale boutique whose associates didn't   
raise an eyebrow when he chose several garments and   
ushered her into the extravagantly decorated dressing   
area.   
  
Mulder is on his couch flipping channels. He smiles up   
at her. His hair is dry now, sticking up all over his   
head. He looks like a cat with its fur ruffled the wrong   
way, but his eyes are warm and inviting. Two beer bottles,   
one open and half-empty, the other closed, rest on the   
coffee table beside his crossed feet. A box of Chinese   
take-out completes the dinner spread. A pair of chopsticks   
is poised in his fingers.  
  
"Hey, Scully."  
  
She smiles in reply and settles herself next to him on the   
cool leather, sliding in close. She has smiled an   
inordinate number of times tonight. His left arm falls   
around her shoulders and pulls her closer still. She   
licks her lips, watching as a drop of condensation makes   
its way slowly down the unopened bottle. She reaches   
for it, twists the cap, and takes a long, slow drink.   
The alcohol tingles on the way down.  
  
He plucks a piece of chicken from the white container   
with the chopsticks and holds it up to her lips. As she   
takes it, he nuzzles her neck and breathes into her ear,   
"You look amazing."  
  
She swallows the chicken and turns to look at him, his   
lips inches from hers. She can't resist, doesn't have to.   
She closes the distance between them and kisses him gently,   
her tongue sneaking out to tease his lower lip. He tastes   
like kung pao.   
  
The chopsticks drop to the floor, forgotten. Eventually,   
the blue dress shirt is discarded as well. As various   
articles of clothing drift to the carpet, their owners   
giggle on the couch nearby.   
  
Deep in the night, they will awaken, tangled together   
under the soft wool of Mulder's blanket. The drinks will be   
warm, the food will be cold, but they won't mind. They   
will crawl into bed, bodies bare beneath the cool cotton   
sheets. Perhaps they will make love again.   
  
Later, as she snuggles against her mate and drifts to   
sleep, Scully will hold onto every detail, lock them safe   
within her heart. And it will be these moments she   
will cherish, months down the road when his child   
grows in her belly, but he is no longer by her side.  
  
* * * * * *  
  
lynnsaundersfanfic@hotmail.com 


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